Dohar Doldrums

For complicated reasons Grant and I only shared the first 14 hour flight on our way to Lesbos and even then I lost him quite quickly to another bit of the aeroplane. It was fine for both of us. On last years harmonious odyssey in the campervan  we worked as one on the road.  Air travel, however has always tended to be taken separately and we  have got into solitary ways in airports.  We choose different places to sit when waiting for planes.  We have different rituals at security.  I bundle my inspected stuff back any which ways whilst Grant likes to glower at officials whilst he meticulously puts his belt back on etc. 

I waved goodbye when he, along with hundreds of other milling people made snakes along the ribbon passageways for additional security checking.  Being at a loose end I had a go at manouevring my way on to Grant’s plane.  A lovely sheik like man with dark chocolate eyes was sympathetic to my plight of having to wait five hours for my plane alone but couldn’t help because of some codeshare issue.  But he consoled me. “ I’ll give you three seats in economy so you can spread out”

  There are huge numbers of rather splendid looking security people in Doha Airport. They don’t bristle with weapons but look like sexy bodyguards.and all of them are very nice to old ladies like me.  “Are you all right?  Are you looking for something?”  I find things to ask for- a cheap food place and a place to sit and that’s how I ended up in the Quiet Room’

 It is a rather ascetic place with lines of moulded plastic banana chairs and a big clock above them.  The light was dim and it was indeed quiet except for gently snoring men.  It felt intrusive to settle into one of the chairs and I worried about showing the soles of my feet but there was no easy way to do anything else.  My shame was compounded by my grubby airport socks  when so many people looked marvelous in white robes or graceful black chaddors.  I was glad anyway I’d got a good haircut yesterday and I put my red knitted beret as a stab at modesty.

This airport has an enormous yellow, home made looking teddy bear as a centerpiece but otherwise is sleek and glittering with expensive shops.  I think as the hours chug by like a slow train that I used to live in this life and maybe one day there may be an afterlife but airport life is something qualitatively quite different.  It is in between life, vapid, devoid of desire even in the face of flaunted luxury and shot through with the ticking anxiety of never getting away.